Bloody Mary
by Petrarch's Pillowcases
Summary: Mary Sunshine: Ultimate pushover. But do those headlines really come from the goodness of her heart? Three times a week, Billy pays her for them. Oh, how he pays. [BillyMary], [BillyVelma] Complete.
1. Charades

**Bloody Mary**

Disclaimer: If I owned Chicago, I would have made a theme park by now.

Chapter 1: Charades

Hallelujah.

There's no better place to be than in a bar, surrounded by adoring women. Especially rich adoring women.

Is there?

He pondered that as one named Mitzy laid her head on his shoulder. Mitzy? Was her name really Mitzy? Was Mitzy even a real name? Hell, it didn't matter. With a few more shots, nothing would matter.

Oh, times were swell. Something about winter sparked a killing spree among women, meaning more work for him. More money, too. Only Billy Flynn could sweet talk for a living and get good money for it.

Last night he went to the Chicago Theater and, sure enough, Roxie and Velma were performing. He'd never admit it, but he liked watching them dance, an exquisitely crafted and perfectly executed charade. It was his secret pride. When they took their bows, the world seemed to fall at their feet.

_Look at that_, he'd think. _I created that_.

Speaking of the devil, Velma Kelly was two tables down. Her voice permeated the hazy paradise, parting the billows of cigarette smoke.

"Here's to us! Who's like us? Damn few!"

She downed half a bottle of gin without blinking an eye, and when she came up for air, she eyes shone with intoxication, an artificial form of love.

"Billy! Billy, you stole five grand from me, did'ja know that?"

"Stole? As I recall, I did what I was paid to do: free you. I owe you nothing."

"We never went to court, and I...I paid to go to court."

"We didn't have to go to court. You weaseled out of it yourself."

"Thief. Johnny, get another drink for the thief here." She turned to him, leaning in so close that he could see a tiny birthmark at the corner of her eye. "What d'ya want?"

"I...I don't know what I want."

xxxxx

_She wore pigtails in her hair. Everyone tried to get a glimpse of her, the new kid from __Iowa__. Or was it __Idaho__? All anyone knew was that she was blonde, she was six years old, and her name was Mary._

_Mary. Like the Virgin Mary._

_Billy didn't like girls. They giggled about nothing and talked about hair ribbons. He was seven; surely, he had plenty of time to find the woman of dreams. _

_Mary was sitting alone under a tree during lunchtime. No, Mary was sitting alone under Billy's tree during lunchtime. Billy stomped up to her, ready to demand his tree back when he noticed she was crying. Another thing he hated about girls: they cried too much._

_"What's the matter?"_

_"I didn't bring a lunch."_

_Almost instinctively, he looked inside his brown paper bag. A peanut butter sandwich and a cookie. There was no way in hell he was sharing that cookie._

_"You can share my sandwich."_

_"Thanks. You're sweet. Will you marry me?"_

_"Okay," he said, chewing a gob of peanut butter with his mouth full._

xxxxx

Velma was so drunk she could barely support her own weight. Billy had his arm around her, holding her up as she muttered nonsense.

He took her into the cool air, hoping to sober her up. No, she was beyond help. He fished out her address from the back his memory, and decided to walk her home.

Her steady breathing lingered on his neck. _You thief, you thief, you thief. _No, Billy Flynn was not a thief. He was just a man who happened to profit immensely from other people's misfortune.

"Billy, why is the streetlamp so bright?"

He did not envy the hangover she was going to have tomorrow morning.

High-heeled shoes struggled with the three steps up to Velma's front door, almost tripping over themselves. He almost laughed at her meager attempts to remain graceful.

"Thanks."

"I like to think I'm a gentleman."

"You know, maybe we could..."

He knew what she was going to say as soon as her blood-ruby lips parted to make the words. Somewhere in the recesses of his consciousness was the picturesque morning after: Velma with a headache that could kill a few elephants, and Billy scrambling with the clock to get to his 9:30 meeting with his latest client. No, no, a million times no.

But she would be something. Something seductive yet endearing, enigmatic yet vaguely familiar, forgettable yet so unforgettable at the same time.

Maybe they could...yet they couldn't.

"Goodnight, Velma."

"Goodnight, Billy."

A/N: Feedback is appreciated, yet chocolate is appreciated even more.


	2. Reprehensible

A/N: Thank you for the positive reviews! Yes, I would love a cyber Hershey bar! I apologize for the lack of Billy/Velma in this chapter, but it's coming; be patient.

Chapter 2: Reprehensible

KITTY BAXTER: ATTACKED BY HER HUSBAND'S JEALOUS MISTRESS

By Mary Sunshine.

Billy couldn't think of anything he loved more than a newspaper, hot off the press. He loved its delectable smell, its baby-soft texture, but most of all, its amazingly beautiful headline. With this kind of press, Kitty would have freedom before D.A Harrison could open his mouth against her.

And Billy would be $5,000 richer.

This was the best spectacle of his career, even better than that Hart kid. Kitty's cheating bastard had not one mistress, but three. The story was that Kitty came into the house and witnessed a woman she didn't know shoot her husband and his two lovers. She turned the gun against Kitty, and Kitty tried to wrestle it away from her. A shot rang out, and abracadabra! Conveniently, the other woman was dead!

It was so farcical, so unbelievable. Yet there it was, black and white, clear as crystal. The people of Chicago believed anything spoon-fed to them through the Chicago Tribune. He imagined them, lamenting over poor Kitty, a victim of an undeniably corrupt system, just trying defend herself.

Just trying to defend herself his ass.

They were waiting outside in lines for him. He had three clients right after Kitty's trial, and prison broads throwing themselves at his feet. Never lost a case. Never lost a goddamn case.

There was only one person to thank for that.

xxxxx

_Immaculate.__ That was the only way to describe William C. Flynn, Attorney at Law's new office. Possible clients in one pile, upcoming appointments in another, important messages in yet another, and important messages he didn't want to answer in the trash. _

_At the top of his list today was Mary Sunshine, reporter at the __Chicago__ Tribune. She slipped in meekly, straightened out her skirt, smiled at him with the oh-so-sweet geniality of a kindergarten teacher. Or a robot._

_"What exactly are you trying to pull, Miss Sunshine?"_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"Look at this. Look at what you wrote about my client: 'Miss Vivian Riley will surely be accused of the murder of her ex-boyfriend and her mother. Her alibi is impossible, not to mention ridiculously absurd.' This article, Miss Sunshine, is absurd."_

_"Mr. Flynn, we have freedom of the press in this country, so this doesn't even concern you."_

_She spoke without hesitation, each word as precise as each lock of her golden hair. _

_"Well, Miss Sunshine, I am willing to offer you 20 of my profits if you, well, give your stories a different curve."_

_"Are you bribing me, Mr. Flynn? If you must bribe me, you can at least do it well. I want half."_

_"Half?__ Tell me you're joking."_

_"Well, Mr. Flynn, if you have nothing else to offer, I think my business here is done."_

_She stood up to leave, unintentionally brandishing her luxurious legs. Billy usually got flashes of brilliance like thunderclaps in his mind; a more appropriate simile for this situation was a flash of brilliance like a kick in the groin._

_"Miss Sunshine, I still have something to offer."_

_"I'm listening, Mr. Flynn."_

_"Myself. Three times a week, and twice on Sundays."_

_He stood up and bowed in mock subservience. She raised her eyebrows until they met her hairline and grimaced in mock disgust. Confident, he stuck out his hand._

_"Well, Miss Sunshine?"_

_"Mr. Flynn, I believe we have a deal."_

_She shook his hand._

xxxxx

Billy hated keeping track of his secretaries. None of them could type, spell, or even construct a complete sentence, but they were all bombshells. His latest airhead slinked into his office, wagging a phone in her wake.

"Mr. Flynn, there's a Miss Kelly on the line for you."

"Veronica, I do not like being disturbed with such trivial matters. Please take a message."

He tapped his pen lightly against his desk, contemplating what he could do for a case that was virtually already won. He could count his money again. He could spin around in circles on his chair. Maybe he should speak to Velma.

Veronica strutted in briskly, trying vainly to appear somewhat businesslike. She left a note on his desk and strutted back out. Suddenly, Billy remembered why he hired her.

He peered at the note:

"Tomorrow night, 7 pm at Maxine's. Don't be late."


	3. Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes

Chapter 3: Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes

She was draped over her chair, nonchalant as always, tapping her fingernails (bloodstained claws) against the table. A faint puff of cigarette smoke was the only thing blocking her eyes, her passionate eyes.

"You're late," she sneered.

"I'm fashionably late."

Billy watched her run her eyes across him, neatly pressed suit, newly shined shoes, slyly slicked hair. Velma, of course, would appreciate his spotless appearance.

She blew smoke in his face.

"Just out of curiosity, Miss Kelly, is this a date?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"A rendezvous between friends. I needed to get out of the theater. You see, Roxie has this new man, and when they make love, they sound like dying hyenas."

"So I'm just a cleverly timed diversion?"

"Yes."

Not like he expected to be anything other than that, of course.

xxxxx

_She slipped into his room quietly. He wasn't even aware of her presence until the harsh thud of the closing door. With a quick turn of her fingers, she locked the door behind her._

_He was locked in his bedroom with Mary Sunshine._

_Maybe, if he concentrated hard enough, he could wish her away. Maybe the shirt he just removed did not belong to a woman, but the majestic illusion of a woman._

_She was far too real to be an illusion._

_He moved quickly, trying to get it over with as quickly as possible. But she kept up. She was like the forever-and-for-always lover he never had; she knew what he wanted. _

_He underestimated her. He probably wasn't the first._

_Surprising even himself, he let her sleep in his arms, sun-splattered hair against his cheek. He traced circles in her back, letting her steady breathing lull him to sleep._

_That night, he dreamed of headlines. _

xxxxx

For almost two hours, he tried to make sense of Velma. It was easy enough when she was his client because their visits were always the same. He would talk about the case; she would flash him bits of leg; he would remain businesslike (inwardly smiling).

But he couldn't hide behind his rich-lawyer façade any longer. He told her outrageous stories about his clients, and she would tilt her head to the side, take another drag of her cigarette, and inch her foot closer to his under the table.

Velma Kelly always got what she wanted.

"Mr. Flynn, can I ask you a question?" she purred, dragging him back to reality with her sharp fingernails.

"Fire away."

"Why did you abandon my case? It was a sure thing. You said so yourself."

"Because no one wanted a Velma Kelly wind-up doll."

"Really? I find that hard to believe. You know, I had to screw Harrison to get him to drop charges. I went through some shit because of you and Hart."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Harrison? Tramp."

She went to take another drag of her cigarette, but he was quicker. He snatched it from between her claws, dropped it, and let it go out beneath the sole of his shoe.

She smirked.

"Thief."

Her eyes (her laughing eyes) were moving in, bringing him into focus, a camera trapping the perfect picture, the perfect Billy, in her memory.

Smile for the camera, Billy.

Everything she was was right there, on her lips, as they finally reached his. He felt it, tasted it, slipped it in his pocket to use against her later.

It was _scandalous_.

Like the scandalous Miss Kelly herself.


	4. The Bachelor and the Bride

Chapter 4: The Bachelor and the Bride

_This is how people trapped in a burning house feel, _he thought randomly. The flames waltz like whiplash, but they are just too exquisitely entrancing to try to fight.

And Billy had always been a fighter.

When Velma pinned him against the door, the door of his own bedroom, it was just so much easier not to move. He knew she was passionate; he knew she knew what she was doing. He guessed she liked disposable lovers, the kind whose name she won't remember in the morning.

But he didn't guess that she was even more of fighter than he was.

It was perfectly natural when the clothes peeled off, an unnecessary second skin. It was perfectly natural when she stated simply that she would be on top.

So it began.

It was a power struggle; that he couldn't deny. He could feel her ache bite gasp reach want. For her, it was something she had to prove, something she had to need.

But for him, it was so simple.

It was living.

xxxxx

_It had to be a Sunday morning. Mary had to ruin his Sunday morning with those three syllables, clandestinely murmured over the phone._

_"I'm pregnant."_

_Of course, he should have expected it, should have thought of it before he laughed at the lawyers who moonlit as fathers. _

_So what the hell happens next?_

_It drifted in his mind for three weeks. She was still mass-producing headlines, but each one seemed more like a slap in the face than a triumph. _

_She came back to him. She didn't say anything; she just let him take her. A baby never came up again, and it certainly wasn't born nine months later. She left all smiles._

_But that didn't explain the tears on her pillow._

xxxxx

"I like you."

Her voice was his wake-up call, and it was certainly more pleasing to the ear than the discords of his alarm clock.

"Nice to know."

She still had a nice smile in the morning.

"Charlie used to snore, snored like the devil. Kicked in his sleep too. At least you're a quiet sleeper."

Billy liked to be awake first. He would get dressed and leave a note: early morning appointment, shoes to shine, fingernails to clean. Never stayed in the same place for long.

But she was all dressed, lipstick like the devil, and he didn't like it. He liked breaking hearts, and he didn't like that she, for an hour or so anyway, had the opportunity to leave him there, defenseless.

Her eyes burned into him as he dressed. Devious bitch. Sneaky, treacherous, loveless little bitch.

Erroneous charges, of course.

"If you're looking for your tie, it's draped over the red chair."

He nodded; she smiled. When he turned around, she was gone.


	5. Flores Para Los Muertes

Chapter 5: Flores para los Muertes

Billy bought her flowers. He never buys women flowers. They were cheap flowers, but still. Velma Kelly was no different than every broad he ever fucked.

But she _was_.

Not only did he buy her flowers, but he delivered them himself. He liked to think of himself as an indispensable lover. The women came back to him.

He sauntered to the door, rang the bell. Slick yet casual. Billy was doing this for himself, not for her. The door opened; he smirked.

Roxie raised her eyebrows.

Billy's world halted and started spinning in the other direction.

"Miss Hart?"

"Mr. Flynn?"

Long. Awkward. Silence.

"Is Velma here? Last time I checked she was the one who lived here."

"Oh. Well, I'm just picking up some of my things. She stole my garter. A blue one with a rhinestone buckle. Claims it was hers."

"Well, when will she be back?"

"How should I know? Soon, I guess."

"Do you mind if I wait for her?"

"Guess not. What's with the flowers?"

"I heard her sister died, and I'm passing on my condolences."

"Condolences. Ha! Condolences."

She found the garter under Velma's bed. She opened her mouth to say something, stopped, cocked her head to the side. She finally fumbled out something about a lunch date and left, taking Velma's garter with her.

Billy wandered around Velma's place, finding himself in the bathroom. He opened the mirror, passing through the looking glass, and found lipstick the color of oceans of rubies. And a bottle of sleeping pills.

It was the minutiae that only Roxie knew. The fact that Velma doesn't go anywhere without lipstick. The fact that only really good sex or a really strong barbiturate can get Velma to sleep.

xxxxx

_"I think I'm getting too old for this."_

_She's the one who said it, inhaling smoke, smoke that doesn't belong anywhere near her pristine figure. Then again, he doesn't belong anywhere near her pristine figure either. When did their little rendezvous' twist into something irreparably perverted?_

_It really irked him that they almost never spoke. She was all words at the press conferences, feigning adoration and pity. It seemed that she only had a certain amount of words to use, and by the time she came to him, she was all out._

_Did they want this anymore? _

_Billy couldn't lose his headlines. Billy had a huge double homicide case on the horizon, a vaudeville vamp who bumped off her husband and her sister. _

_That was who he thought about when Mary put out her cigarette and kissed him on the lips. He could never lose sight of their initial purpose, the reason he keeps coming back. It was business, never anything more. Billy saved oppressed, hot-blooded, slightly violent women who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time._

_Tonight, he was saving Velma Kelly. _

xxxxx

"You brought me flowers? How nice. Never do it again."

"I'm sorry. Are you too good for flowers?"

"Well, I'm not too good for diamonds."

"Roxie was here earlier."

"For the garter, right? I don't even need that little tramp. And to think, she would be on the streets without me."

She neglected to mention that she was just as faded and worn when Roxie found her. She liked to think that she had enough sheer star shine to light her own way. And for a moment, she had even Billy fooled.

"You really don't like the flowers?"

"Too sentimental. And they wilt. Diamonds last forever."

Charlie used to bring her flowers; he could see it in her eyes. She mistook it for love. So she kept love at a distance simply because it was unpredictable, felonious, reckless. Sex was sex. This clever carbon copy of love was enough for her.

And that was exactly what Billy loved about her.


	6. Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

Chapter 6: Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

_Mary, I don't think I can do this anymore._

There had to be a better way to say it. He could fashion a lie about a rare South African disease that was contagious and halted all of his hedonistic activities.

Like she would ever believe that.

So here he was, wrapped in bed sheets that still smelled of Velma, sitting in her bathroom while she slept. With a goddamn telephone. It was a caricature of a caricature of desperation.

"Hello, Mary Sunshine speaking."

Maybe he should have thought of something better before he called.

"Mary, it's Billy. We need to talk."

"Well, we're talking."

"I can't...you can't come over this Sunday."

"Why not?"

"I'm...getting married."

He thought for a moment she would choke on her own laughter.

"Married! Sold your soul to the Devil, I can understand, but married?"

"It's true, I swear. She's one of my ex-clients."

"But you hate your clients."

"Not this one. I got her a ring and everything."

How the hell was he going to explain this to Velma?

"So you love her?"

Billy said nothing.

Mary said, "That's what I thought."

xxxxx

_She was charming and beautiful and still thriving behind bars._

_Billy knew beauty as pearls strung like a noose around a woman's neck, as gentle curling hair and swooshing gowns. Those women were beautiful; these women were strong._

_Somehow she managed both._

_"Mr. Flynn?"_

_"Miss Kelly, I presume?"_

_"I believe Matron Morton mentioned me."_

_"In passing."_

_"She said you never lost a case."_

_"And proud of it.__ So I find it reasonable to charge $5,000 for my services."_

_"That's pretty steep."_

_"Well, if you can't afford it..."_

_Any other broad would have lowered her voice, cooing something about compromises and dragging a hand across his chest. But Velma Kelly was too proud for compromises._

_"I can afford it."_

_He looked her (straight in the eye) and smiled. She smiled back, extended her hand. _

_He shook it._

_When he went to get a cigarette from he coat pocket, his hand couldn't grasp the case of cigarettes. After a moment, he realized his cigarettes had vanished._

_Velma Kelly blew smoke through the bars._

_Thief._

xxxxx

Billy and Velma didn't believe in coincidences.

So there was no reason that Mary Sunshine's headlines suddenly turned caustic and negative. There was no reason that it occurred only two weeks after Kitty Baxter won her case and five days after a certain phone call.

So when Billy Flynn lost his first case (to the truth), Billy and Velma knew exactly what to do.

Velma and Roxie decided (peculiarly timed, but still) that Chicago was no longer big enough for them, so they took their charade on a little tour of the state. The country. The world.

And Billy set his eyes toward Manhattan, the only other place he thought was big enough for him.

Velma could promise to stop by New York on her tour, and Billy could promise to track her down if he ever traveled, but neither Velma nor Billy were good a keeping a promise. So they had to settle for never again.

Goodbyes didn't suit them. They lived with the knowledge that they were slipping out of splendor, not going out with the bang they wanted. So it was a quick and useless goodbye, something that couldn't last forever, but had to nonetheless.

Mary couldn't have love, so she loved the fact that Billy couldn't have it either.

Mary Sunshine. She considered changing her name.

But she didn't.

_Fin._


End file.
